


Shadow of a Voice

by Rogercat



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Abduction, Adopted Children, Adoption, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amon Ereb, Animal Transformation, Battle, Blindness, Childhood Trauma, Descent into Madness, F/M, Family Drama, Father-Son Relationship, Feral Behavior, Flashbacks, Gen, Growing Up, Half-Elves, Kidnapping, Long-Term Relationship(s), Lullabies, Magic, Muteness, Name Changes, Nargothrond, Nightmares, Orcs, Other, Parenthood, Past Child Abuse, Repressed Memories, Second Kinslaying | Sack of Doriath, Single Parents, Terrifying Tolkien Week, The Noldor, The Silmarillion References, Uncle-Nephew Relationship, Wilderness Survival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-07 11:33:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16407713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rogercat/pseuds/Rogercat
Summary: When Sauron kidnaps little Dior from Luthien and Beren, it sets off a chain of long-term changes for many people. Among them Celegorm, who finds a different reason to use his life on





	1. The mysterious child

Year 472 of the First Age, Tol Galen:                                                                                                                                                 

 

_Sleep, sweet child_

_Fly away, wind_

_I will be waiting for you_

_Till the morning comes_

 

_Sleep, sweet child_

_You are sailing_

_To faraway lands_

_Follow my voice_

_Into the thick clouds_

 

_Sleep, sweet child_

_Fear nothing_

_In the land of your dreams_

_Someone keeps you_

_In their thoughts_

 

Luthien stopped singing the lullaby, as Beren sat down beside her in the grass, his face grim of worry. The birds had been the fastest way to get the horrible news. The Battle of Unnumbered Tears, as it quickly had been named, had spelled the Union of Maedhros’ doom, and Fingon, High King of the Noldor, had been slain.                    

 

“Are you sure that we should not move to Doriath? Your mother should be able to give protection with her Girdle. After all, we do not have just ourselves to think of…” Beren said, looking around for their little son who currently had gotten himself busy with some later summer flowers. Being only two years old, Dior had no idea about what happened out in the wider world.

 

“No. Tol Galen is safe. Ulmo's powers will protect us. Besides, it is a long way to travel if we have to leave. I do not have my Maiarin powers anymore and you did not regain your lost hand at rebirth. We both would be at a disadvantage if we ended up in need of defending ourselves.”   

 

The shrill laughter as Dior caught sight of a colourful butterfly and tried to chase it. The sight of him were enough to lessen the worry in their hearts, if only for a little bit.         

 

“Let's catch him, it is soon time for his afternoon nap.”

  


Meanwhile, Dior had stopped running. Looking around for where the butterfly had gone, he saw several large white flowers a little further away. Perhaps his Mom would like those? Small as he was, the Half-elven toddler could not pull up the flowers despite trying with all his tiny strength and determination. Then, finally one flower gave away with its roots loosening. Tripping backwards, tears formed in Dior's eyes despite not trying to cry.   

 

“Dior? Have you started to play hide and seek again?” the amused voice of his mother called.      

 

“Mom!”  

 

In the next moment, as Dior turned around, an unknown adult was suddenly face to face with him. Only, this face was of shadow, imposing and scary, with those orange eyes like fire. Small as he were, Dior realized one thing; this person was _dangerous_.     

 

“ ** _MOOOOOOOOOM!!!!_ ** ”

 

The horrified cry for Luthien made both parents freeze in horror as they quickly sensed an aura they once faced. Sauron, the Lieutenant to Morgoth. Now, without Huan to help her and her loss of the Maiarin powers inherited from her mother, there was no way Luthien would be able to defeat him a second time.    

 

“ _NO!! DIOOOOOOOOR!!!!_ ”  

 

But it was too late; the only thing left by their little son on the ground was the tiny little shoes Dior had dropped when Sauron had stolen him away in a cloud of darkness. Then was a echoing scream of despair and raw grief across the whole island as Luthien collapsed.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

 

Five years later, winter of year 477, Ossiriand:    

 

“Again? It is the third night in five days.”

 

“And the lock has been broken up, as well despite Lord Curufin making a new one just last year to prevent this!”     

 

It was not the first time Celegorm had woken in the morning and found, alongside the servants, that some of the food stored for winter months seemed to have been stolen. Now, it was no big amount of food stolen, a few carrots and apples, but the Laiquendi had no prior history of stealing from the Noldor camp, since they would know where to find their own food.    

 

As for why the Ambarussa, Maglor and Curufin had stayed behind at Amon Ereb while Maedhros, Caranthir and Celegorm had went to Ossiriand over winter, the answer was pretty simple: they wanted to see how things were around the Dwarf-Road to Nogrod.      

 

“My Lord, look. There has even been an attempt to take a dried fish this time.”

 

Celegorm, however, noticed some odd marks at the bottom of said fish, as if a small animal had tried to bite into it and gotten a shock at the salty taste. And the bag with carrots showed signs of the animal needing to use both teeth and claws to make a enough big hole in the rough cloth to get the carrots.

 

Suddenly, a yell of surprise was heard from the outside and they hurried out of the underground cellar where the food was. The person to yell had been Caranthir who, from his position of lying stretched out on the ground with his face downward in the snow, now looked up with his familiar red face of fury quickly showing up, and not just from the cold.          

 

“Catch that person who stole my bearskin cloak!”  

 

Far away among the trees, a shadow could be seen vanishing, dragging said cloak along the ground.

 

“Leave it to me!” Celegorm said as he went off, already mentally preparing himself for what his brothers called his “hunting state of mind” after his long time as a follower of Oromë, teachings that the third-born son of Fëanor still used here in Middle-Earth after the Exile from Valinor.

  


“Hey! Stop!”

 

This was not the first time Celegorm hunted a prey that attempted to play hide and seek with him, or at least confuse him. It had often happen with his younger brothers and sometimes even their cousins in the long gone days of their childhood. And whatever the being in front of him were, it did not seem to be completely unfamiliar about being the prey given how quickly it could run despite its small size.

 

What stopped the chase, however, was that a ravine suddenly showed up ahead and out of habit from his youth since it would otherwise have ended in serious harm to the younger brothers, Celegorm grabbed the skin cloak to pull back the smaller figure before something happened. On the other hand, he was not too surprised at being rewarded with a rather deep bite into his arm. A good bite, that would have left bleeding wounds if not for the vambraces the Fëanorian wore to prevent just that kind of event.      

 

“Oi, stop that!” Celegorm muttered in a low voice as a warning, struggling with keeping any bare skin from being bitten in the small fight that followed, or what the small figure tried to make into a fist fight. Finally he had enough and simply used the skin cloak to as a bag over his shoulder to carry his catch back home.

  


“Is there a bath ready in the bath house? I may need it for a little bit,” Celegorm said the moment he arrived back in camp, trying to not lose his prey the moment he opened the bear skin cloak to give it back to Caranthir.    

 

“Is that a _child_?!” someone of the soldiers asked in disbelief at seeing what Celegorm tried to keep still in his arms. The so called clothes, or what seemed to be threadbare rags about to fall off the small body any moment, did not offer much warmth against the winter cold and another alarming sight was the bare toes and fingers being dangerously dark blue, a sign of frostbite on the way. Why was the child not better clothed in the coldest season of the year?           

 

“No goblin or orc runt, at least,” replied Celegorm before he went into the bath house and closed the door. Soon enough, he called out though a semi-open window to let in fresh air:   

 

“Someone get in here! I need scissors and more soap! And lots of more warm water! Tell the healers to be ready for me!”

  


Finally, after what seemed to be at least a hour, did Celegorm arrive to the healer building with his new burden firmly hold against his chest inside a blanket. From the way his own clothes were dripping wet, he had likely nearly been pulled down in the bathtub as well.  

 

“My apologies for not arriving here at once, but this kid was in need of a bath rather desperately so we would not miss any possible injuries. Oh, and some simple anesthesia might be wise, I have already been bitten twice while trying to bath this one.”

 

The struggle lessened after a careful dose of anesthesia, the child falling limp back into Celegorm's arms but the eyes tried to remain watchful. Now with all the dried blood and dirt gone thanks to the much-needed bath, old scars, half-healed bruises and other injuries was revealed in all their naked, horrible glory on the small body. The child, clearly seen to be a boy when he was washed clean and the tangled hair now shaved off to get rid of lice and parasites, were skinny enough for the ribs to be visible, the skin unnaturally pale as if no light of the sun had touched the skin for several years. And there was no way of telling his actual age, not when he was so tiny and malnourished. The child attempted to bare his teeth in visible pain when healers focused to applying an ointment that obviously stung on the various cuts and marks and then wrapping both the tiny feet and hands in thick bandages to treat the frostbite from setting in. The left eye, clearly blind after a injury, they could do nothing about.

   

 

After the full health-check, Celegorm were not surprised to see Maedhros outside when he came to his own hut, carrying the now sleeping child in his arms, wrapped in several blankets to keep warm.           

 

“Why am I not surprised that this feels very similar to how you used to come home with abandoned baby animals as a Elfling? What did the healers find out?” the taller redhead sighed, before taking a closer look on the small, awfully thin face peeking out of the blankets.  

 

“Most likely a child who was enslaved in Angband and somehow managed to escape, perhaps taken as prey for those hunting games they seem fond to do with weak slaves, though this little one is surprising fast at running despite lack of food and good clothes for protection, I actually had some trouble keeping up before I caught him.”

 

Celegorm adjusted his hold on the child without waking him up.

 

“Sounds like he managed to surprise the orcs he may have been a hunting game for and then survived a little on his own during autumn before it became too cold, then?”

 

That could explain why the child had no good clothes for warmth, for example.

 

“And that is not all, there is… injuries on the vocal cord that have healed wrong in the past, at least a year before now. He is _physically mute_.”

 

Maedhros' scarred face became dark in fury at those words, he knew too well the horrors of Angband and did not doubt for a moment that the little boy would suffer from that trauma far worse than himself, a adult with a supporting family to help him recover after being saved by Fingon. The child had no one. It was sadly very possible that this little foundling was a orphan, with no known relatives to take him in. And even if there was any relatives still alive, they could easily be all far away in East Beleriand rather than in Ossiriand. Or perhaps not even knowing of any new addictions in the family, it was hard to get  useful information in the few rumors spread.

 

“I know what you are thinking. If the boy indeed is feral from a life in Angband, then perhaps I am the best suited to handle him, at least for now if he is more animal than Elf. He may not know basic social skills, which could hinder a upbringing...ow, quit biting me like a wolf pup, brat!”      

 

The boy had woken up while they talked, and now tried to get free from the blankets by biting Celegorm for the third time already this day.   

 

“Wolf pup… perhaps we should call him Harmion, then?” Maedhros suggested with a thin smile, referring to a rare Quenya name that meant “Son of Wolf”.

 

“Gladly for me! Now excuse me, Nelyo, I need to get some much-needed food in him and also find some warm clothes for him…” Celegorm responded  with a slight pain in his voice which formed a strained smile on his face, as he was trying to make the boy release his arm.      

     

 


	2. Slow changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celegorm gets his hands busy with Harmion. for more than one reason

Now, Celegorm were perhaps not the best person to care for a traumatized child, but if there was one thing he had plenty of, it was helpful brothers and knowledgeable servants who could help him once they returned to Amon Ereb. Of course, their return home to the fortress with a unexpected stray child attempting to escape from Celegorm, naturally caused some big attention from their followers.

 

One of Celegorm's first tasks was to get little Harmion to trust him, and for that he used his old knowledge to make a wounded, scared creature to trust him. Speaking softly, for example, no sudden movements and trying to make himself as non-threatening as possible.            

“Easy now. I will not hit you, see?”

Food was another way to gain trust. First small portions, since Harmion was so underfed and they did not know when he last had been able to eat a proper meal. Small meals several times over the day, that will slowly turn into regular meals. Not wanting to having to anesthetize the boy down and forcing medications into him daily, the healers instead tried to add in medicinal herbs and liquid medicine into his food to strengthen the immune system.  

 

“I am not surprised that he have gotten a slight fever from the journey despite you trying to keep him warm. Mandos knows what he was forced to eat before arriving here. I hope that he is not throwing half the food on you, I have seen the strains on your tunic,” Curufin said while Celegorm tried to feed Harmion some spoonfuls of soup, sitting beside the small bed where the Elfling laid, his hair now slowly growing out and revealed to be a dark brown in colour now when it were cared for. Apparently there were nothing wrong with the boy's hearing, for suddenly Curufin was nearly knocked to the floor with a well-aimed pillow in his face. The kid was strong for his skinny appearance. As Curufin did straighten up in shock over the force he had been hit with, the boy still glared around from the bed, his right working silver-grey eye shining in an unusual manner from the fever before attempting to jerk the soup bowl from Celegorm.  

 

“Do not do that, you will burn yourself if you spill on yourself,” Celegorm warned, holding the bowl of reach but not letting the child beg for it. Begging or stealing food was another habit from Angband that he tried to break out of the boy. If he was to live a civilized life, he needed to know basic social skills.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

 

No one was surprised by that, when Harmion was allowed to explore Amon Ereb under a watchful eye from Celegorm, he did end up bonding with Maedhros somewhat as the first one among his many new adopted uncles. Perhaps he sensed that the oldest Fëanorian had once suffered in Angband as well, or could see it from the scars Maedhros still carried on his body. He clearly seemed to rank Maedhros as the Alpha male of the brothers, at least, based on that Celegorm had never once challenged his oldest brother for the position as leader when Harmion could see it.

 

Again Maglor's skills in music and singing proved to be useful, and he often sang peaceful little songs whatever Harmion behaved more like a feral animal than Elf, especially in the beginning when the Elfling could act rather aggressive against people, which not even Celegorm was spared from. The third brother began the habit of wearing his gloves and vambraces almost daily, since it was hard to know what or when something could trigger Harmion to act out, and his instinct to bite in self-defense was often the first warning.

 

Despite the manner of their first meeting, Caranthir tried to act normally around Harmion, keeping in his anger and not shouting whatever the boy made a mess of his paperwork and ink by jumping up on his desk with bare feet, a scene sometimes happening when Celegorm had to chase Harmion across the whole fortress, especially if there had been a theft of food in the kitchen from the boy. Yet Harmion was far smaller than what Huan had been, and his background as a child slave in Angband made it easier to understand that some everyday manners and behavior among the Elves was still foreign for him.

 

Being the youngest of the brothers, Amrod and Amras simply used their old place as the last-borns to try and make a bond with Harmion. They had still been in early adolescence when their nephew Celebrimbor had been born, thus making them used to play with a smaller child. That they were hunters like Celegorm, and played harmless things like hide and seek around the fortress, seemed to help Harmion trust them. That they often sneaked him some extra food below the table at the meals when Celegorm was not watching, also gave him a positive view about the red-haired twins.     

 

Somehow, it was Curufin who ended up in the role of being a distant uncle to Harmion, despite being close to Celegorm. He said himself that seeing his brother with the boy, brought up memories from when Celebrimbor was roughly the same age and that it only acted as a painful reminder of that his son had repudiated his father's deeds, and not followed his father and uncle when they were expelled from Nargothrond. As a result, he was hesitant to become closer to Harmion. It did not help that Curufin sometimes spent long hours in the forge, and that the smell from his working clothes could trigger a bad memory for the feral Elfling that often ended with Curufin narrowly getting his fingers inside a leather glove caught between a snapping set of teeth.

 

Celegorm and Curufin had more than one heated argument related to a such event that passing winter and spring, in general the moment as one of the other brothers took Harmion away from the scene, which was needed since that first time the Elfling had shown himself cowering in absolute terror whatever someone reprimanded him in a very loud voice close to shouting.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

 

By the time late summer of the 478th Year of the Sun arrived, Celegorm thought it was a fitting time to allow Harmion to follow him outside Amon Ereb and down to the river Gelion. Before that, he had wanted the boy to see the fortress as a place where he could feel safe and protected by the many warriors there. There was a bonus in trying to have Harmion reach a somewhat more healthy weight before any such adventure that could become unexpectedly dangerous in the blink of an eye.        

 

“Easy now, you have ridden the horse earlier with me, there is nothing to be scared of.”            

 

Celegorm did not want his unofficial foster son to be scared of the woods that was seen just across the river and around them in a small cluster of trees, or link them to any unpleasant memory from the past. Besides, now in the summer Harmion could run freely as he wished, as long as he wore soft leather sandals to protect his feet, which did not need to end up even more scarred than before.

 

“Enjoying the sun?” Celegorm smiled at seeing the Elfling in wonder over the reflection of the sun in the water of the river bank, then jumping back in fright at seeing his own face. Although Harmion were used to baths now, it seemed like he still had not really gotten used to how things could be seen in water. Celegorm were about to start picking some cooking herbs, when his ears caught a most unwelcome sound in a moment like this;    

 

“One, two… ten orcs? I better try and kill them quickly, if they are scouts sent out to cause trouble.”

 

Knowing that Harmion would keep himself busy like a kitten would do with a shiny toy, it was a simple matter to just handle him a little peg-top of wood while telling him to remain where he was and then rush off to deal with the orcs. Not too far away, of course, without Huan around Celegorm refused to take any risks that could prove fatal.   

  


As a seasoned hunter and warrior, Celegorm knew how to kill orcs fast. However, one orc managed to escape just as he was kept busy with the others. And what was worse, the orc ran off in exactly the direction where Harmion was. Not knowing how Harmion might react on seeing a member of the race that once had tormented him to the point that not even Maglor had found a single memory not linked to Angband before Celegorm had taken him in, Celegorm tried to take a shortcut to prevent anything from happening. In a silent prayer to Oromë over what he was planning to do, the Fëanorian transformed into a giant white wolf with some reddish fur around the eyes, a sign of his loyalty towards his father.  

 

The warning howl of a wolf echoed between the trees as Celegorm rushed onwards in his new form, the unnatural speed of desperation making him run even fast. Since the Darkening of Valinor, he had only used this wolf form a few times, mainly because it caused him to feel the old pull between Oromë and the wildlife. Now it had awakened in his mind again.

 

 **_Tyelkormo. What are you doing in this form after such long lack of use?_** the distant voice of Oromë asked, if calling in a thick mist where it was hard to hear properly.

 

**_Protection. Young one. Danger._ **

 

Celegorm's mind struggled with not allowing the wolf to take full control, or Harmion risked to become injured by mistake.  

  


By the time Celegorm arrived back to the river part where Harmion should be, he got a serious shock at what he saw:    

 

Harmion had drawn his mouth into a snarl and baring his teeth like a wild animal ready to attack, down on all fours with one of Celegorm's spare daggers in one hand. He was already covered in fresh blood that, for a moment, triggered a cold terror inside Celegorm in fear of that the Elfling had been injured. Then he saw the orc closing in for a new attack. That never happened, because Harmion once again showed off the almost impossibly high speed he had used to almost outrun and escape Celegorm with earlier that passing winter. Just like a predator Harmion aimed for the throat of his prey. Despite the difference in size, weight and body mass, he did actually manage to get in a almost perfect killing strike in the neck with the dagger, clawing with finger nails and biting with teeth in the orc's face for extra injury. Transforming back into his Elven body, Celegorm grabbed Harmion's tunic to pull him back while kicking away the now dead orc with a foot. At first, Harmion acted as if it was another attacker, but calmed down just a little bit at seeing who it was. Ignoring that they both were covered in blood, and to check something he had caught a glimpse of for a brief moment just to ensure that it had not been a trick of the light, Celegorm took a closer inspection of the small face, holding the struggling Elfling still despite Harmion baring his teeth and attempting to kick Celegorm in the gut as protest;

 

Harmion's grey eyes, both the functional right and blind left, were shining again like silver, but not in the same manner as if he would suffer from a fever. No, this was something else, a light from the inside that normally would only be found in the Maiar or Valar.   

 

“Oh, joy. Really, really great fun, this explains pretty a big deal of your unusual behavior at times. Maedhros is gonna be **_so happy_** over the discovery that Sauron seems to have tried to infuse some of his own Maiarin blood into innocent kids to create a half-Maia like that annoying princess of Thingol and Melian’s, since I really can't imagine him having a such relationship with a She-elf. And there is **_no way_**   I am gonna ask for advice about raising a kid with Maiarin powers from Doriath, it worked fine with Oromë and his Maiar when things still were peaceful in Valinor, so you will have to excuse any craziness I might do while caring for you, Harmion.”

 

In response, he got a now rather familiar attempt to bite into his arm, but Celegorm knew that Harmion only did so under great distress where he forgot that a hug was more acceptable.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

 

One thing that the Fëanorians and their followers at Amon Ereb had no choice but accept as part of their lives from now on, was the sometimes sudden outbursts of raw Maia powers that could be triggered by the nightmares Harmion suffered at times. They could not expect him to control those powers due to his young age, not when he did not have a proper teacher to learn from and while Celegorm had the most experience with Maiar since Maedhros' time as a prisoner in Angband did not exactly count as a training or study period, they still had very limited ways to teach Harmion. Tonight were a such night and it was the feeling of a minor earthquake that awoke Maedhros from his own nightmares about the Battle of Unnumbered Tears. He was only too grateful that he had been forced awake just before Fingon were about to be killed.

 

“At least it is not shaking too badly this time…” he thought at seeing the small jars with his own pain-numbing salve for the phantom pains in his right arm had not yet tripped off the small table at his bed.  

 

As Celegorm were away on a scout mission, it fell upon his brothers to deal with Harmion this time. Knowing that it would be better for the others who also had been shaken out of sleep pretty brutally, if the terrified Elfling calmed down quickly, Maedhros did not exactly run down along the corridor between the bedrooms but still walked quickly.

 

Harmion was curled up in a ball with his arms around his head for protection, trembling in his whole body as he let out a soundless scream which caused a wave of Maia powers to be released from his body and cause the shaking of the fortress.

 

“Harmion? Did you dream about… _him?_ ” Maedhros asked in a tender voice, knowing himself how brutal Sauron had been in his handling of Elven slaves that he wanted to break, both physically and mentally. It was only by pure luck that Sauron was entirely uninterested in sexual relations or things would, without doubt, have been far worse. But he had been skilled in leaving everlasting spiritual scars thanks to the trauma, and tonight Harmion suffered a relapse of his own captivity in his nightmares.

 

 _Get_ **_him_ ** _away! It hurts! It hurts everywhere!! I do not want… I do not want! I want…!_

 

The answer, ambiguous and pleading to the point of almost desperation as said though ósanwe, told Maedhros of how things were in Harmion's mind right now. He was near to suffer a nervous breakdown, which had only happened twice over the few years since he came into Celegorm's care but each one had brought up the sensitive and fragile child Harmion remained in his mind, and how broken he was from his time in Angband.  

 

Just as Maedhros carefully picked up Harmion in his arms, mindful of any sudden movements that could be misunderstood as a possible punishment since Harmion still had not really woken up from his nightmares, did Maglor show up with his harp in one hand.

 

“Maglor, one of those lullabies that always help calming down Harmion, quickly!”

 

They did not know why, but for whatever reason, simple lullabies sung to infants and small children, always seemed to have an effect on Harmion. As if pulling him out of a semi-feral state of mind and almost… become civilized. Not perfect, but a good guess was that in the deepest parts of his mind, were a possible memory of his biological mother singing a lullaby. A memory long gone, but not fully forgotten with the right kind of music.    

 

“ _Sleep sweet, dear child. Dawn shall awake you in the morning…_ ”

 

Finally, after several anxious minutes, did Harmion relax enough to fall back into a much more peaceful sleep.

 

“That could have been dangerous. We have been lucky in that those outbursts of his powers have not killed someone yet.”

 

“Whatever Sauron planned to do with him, we do not know. But from the way he have grown since we took him in, I think that damned Maia messed up with his natural development, at least with his physical growth. He is already taller than the few Elflings that lives here in Amon Ereb and showing signs of possibly entering adolescence within the next coming years, you know yourself that once we Elves have finished growing to our adult height, the body changes is soon to follow.”   

 

Maglor paled slightly in worry and not so little fear.

 

“But he is…! Even if we do not know his exact age because of how small in stature and malnourished he was at being found, a Elfling between fifteen and twenty years of age should not have to deal with… those troublesome changes in the body! What if he can not control himself, especially around those mortal maidens who are able of childbearing but not married yet, and ends up becoming a father at a far too immature age for a such task! Our own parents may have been young at their marriage, but they were of age when it happened!”

 

“Then we will have to work together on keeping him on a tight leash around females until that he is mature enough to understand the very possible consequences of love-making done without much thought, it is already a problem for mortals that their half-grown sons fail to think of that they may end up with a unexpected bride that shows all the signs of being knocked up at the hurried wedding to save her social honor. Once he is in control over his own body and perhaps even finds a possible wife that is willing to accept that he is different for various reasons, then I think we can loosen the hold on Harmion a bit,” Maedhros spoke as if he did not think it to be a such huge issue.

 

“....just do not let Celegorm explain the important talk about where children comes from. Mating season between animals and love-making between the Children of Eru are… two very different things,” Maglor finally said after some silence.

 

“That is a task for you and Curufin, you two are the ones who have wives, and Celebrimbor is proof enough of what our third-youngest brother did with his wife in the bedchamber.”            

 


	3. Nargothrond and Doriath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Events at Nargothrond changes a lot in life for everyone

Year 495 of the First Age, Nargothrond:    

 

Finduilas knew that a storm was coming. Not just in the weather, but in lives of everyone who lived in Nargothrond now. It was not just her father Orodreth she worried for, but for her betrothed Gwindor as well. Why Túrin did not seem to view their marriage promise as binding, she did not know but strongly suspected that Túrin perhaps wanted to follow the example of Beren when it came to marrying a Elven princess, but for a less romantic reason. As her father's only child, Finduilas held a lot of power as the future ruler, power that would be shared by a husband. And Túrin wanted more than just being the Lord of his home realm Dor-lómin. 

 

Suddenly, a new wind passed around her, like a gentle caressing on the cheek, and Finduilas looked over her shoulder. There, where it just a few moments earlier had not been anyone, stood someone in a large crimson-coloured cloak that hid the face of the owner with a hood. But the hint of a single silver-grey eye were enough to tell her who it was. 

 

“Harmion! Oh, you could not have used your powers to arrive here at a worse time! Túrin… that foolish mortal have not only refused to destroy that idiotic bridge that leads straight to the very gates of the city, but he persuaded Father to go out in open combat against the armies of Angband!!” 

 

Finduilas had many excuses for almost sounding hysterical of fear, and Harmion could tell the main worry in her heart; the loss of her father and Gwindor, her betrothed who really should not be out in open battle again when it had lead to his enslavement for seventeen years in the past. 

 

_ Tell the remaining people inside Nargothrond to evacuate, right away! Use your position as the Queen-in-heir to do so! No, abandon the city and escape! If your father and his soldiers have lost the battle, you will be the next target! _ he told her by ósanwe, trying to keep her calm. Finduilas nodded in agreement, she may have warrior training herself but she could not lead the few remaining warriors into battle to defend their home. 

 

“If you can… please bring Father and Gwindor back to me and my mother! I do not care if Túrin falls in the battle, not after all this trouble he has caused to bring ruin to Nargothrond, but the two important men in my life, he shall not bring with him in death if that can be prevented!” 

 

Harmion nodded. As a foster son to the Fëanorians and not someone who had sworn the famed Oath of Fëanor, Orodreth had named him as a neutral go-betweener after long hesitation of the request that Harmion should be able to act as a messenger. His Maia powers helped a lot in covering long distances that took a long time of travel.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

 

The battle sounds from the field of Tumhalad told Harmion where the fighting was happening. The sight that greeted him at landing in a hidden spot behind some large rocks, were not promising. The Elven army of Nargothrond was down to only a few soldiers now, with King Orodreth's fallen body among them as they had tried to defend him from attacking swords and arrows from the orcs. A distance away, Gwindor tried to block an orc who came closer in order to slay him with a sword, a task that would not prove too hard since he were already weakened in body from his earlier enslavement and become wounded during the battle. Then, a flash of crimson red showed up in the middle of the battle field, and a blinding light stunned those unfortunate who had turned their heads against the red. The orcs ran around blindly, and Túrin turned up the visor on his Dragon-helm to see better. Only to suddenly see Harmion very close up to his own face, the strange Elf's silver-grey eye cold with fury:  

 

_ Foolish mortal who allows your pride to bring doom to those around you! Kindness and help you have been given, yet what do you repay it with? Doom and ruin on innocent people whose lives would be far happier, had you been born without life at entering the world from the womb of your mother! Death you have brought King Orodreth when Nargothrond were best hidden, and for this you shall pay as per the wish of his daughter Finduilas!  _

 

And Túrin were stunned by a blow to his head, knocking him unconscious just as the other last Elven warriors fell to the ground, the souls leaving their bodies for the Halls of Mandos. The orcs, who still were blinded by the light earlier, could not prevent Harmion from picking up the wounded Gwindor and the dead body of Orodreth into the air by the use of his Maia powers.  

 

“Lord… lord Harmion…” Gwindor whispered, trying to stay awake from the pain. 

 

_ I promise to heal your wounds once we arrive back at Nargothrond. Try to not die from the blood loss during this unusual travel for you, or Finduilas will have my head.  _

 

Túrin was treated far from tenderly, more like a sack filled with root crops that was kicked to move away as Harmion used his power to get away from the field of Tumhalad before the orcs regained their full eyesight again.   

 

~X~X~X~X~X~X   
  


Finduilas and her mother had managed to get their people to understand the necessity of actually abandoning Nargothrond as soon as they could. After all, not everyone could use a weapon if the orc army had defeated their own warriors and many mothers had their young children to think of.

 

“We will follow river Narog south to the Mouths! Bring out those wooden rafts uncle Finrod ordered to be made long ago!”

 

Thanks to being stored in a dry place, the rafts were in good condition and strong enough to hold several people on each raft. Sending out scouts ahead to check so no enemies would see them escape, Finduilas turned around to see Harmion land with three persons.  

 

“Gwindor! Father… oh,  **_FATHER!_ ** ”

 

It was impossible to misread what had happened to Orodreth, or why Harmion focused on trying to heal the injuries on the barely semi-conscious Gwindor so he would not follow his lord and King into the Halls of Mandos. Letting her mother grieve over her husband, Finduilas tried to focus on Gwindor in a fanatic hope of that he would stay with them. 

 

_ Try to not move him too much during the escape. I have managed to stabilize him, but he needs the care of properly-trained healers if he shall live to become your Prince Consort, Finduilas. _

 

By calling Gwindor her future Prince Consort, Harmion acknowledged her as the new ruler of Nargothrond, even if they would have to leave the city behind to save their lives.  

 

“Thank you for bringing them back…” was all Finduilas could manage to say between her tears over the loss of her father. Once Gwindor were stable enough to be moved, they used a stretcher to get him on board on the same raft as Finduilas would leave on. 

 

“Harmion, please give this letter to my father and uncles so they do not worrying themselves sick in fear over that I may have died here. I may have disowned them because of the Oath but I do not want them to fear that I have died without them being able to prevent it from happening,” Celebrimbor requested, giving him a hasty-written letter to put in a pocket. The last of the rafts went away down the river while Harmion grabbed hold of the still unconscious Túrin and pulled him inside though the Doors of Felagund. 

__

 

By the time Túrin awoke, he found himself lying on the stone floor of the throne chamber of Nargothrond, his hands chained behind his back with a large chain set into the floor. The chamber was all empty, save for some movement a bit away.  

 

“Where…?!”

Harmion turned around, once he was finished with pulling a large banner with the heraldic device of the House of Finarfin over the cleaned and redressed body of Orodreth, which laid on a simple table since there had been no time for more preparation with him alone to do the tasks, even if Harmion could have used his powers, except for that this were no such fitting moment. Sometimes it were better to do things by hand, simple as that.  

 

_ Have you heard of a custom among Mortals in the far East, that if a member of a family is killed, his murderer is to pay his life on the burial fire where the body is burned? I asked Finduilas, and seeing that you could have caused the death of both father and betrothed to her, she thought that you would make a fine burial sacrifice for lord Orodreth as a warning to others that killing an Elven King, directly or indirectly, is not without serious consequences. _

 

One thing that Harmion indirectly had learned in Angband from Sauron despite wishing to forget it all completely, was how to use lies to make people feel like they were in a living nightmare. Now he used this on Túrin, who began to be frightened at the mention of being burned alive. 

 

“Y—You are wrong… she would never request a such thing…!” 

 

_ Did you not hear me back in the battlefield before you were knocked out? You are cursed to bring doom and ruin into the lives of innocents, pride blinding you to the flaws you carry. Finduilas is no meek maiden in need of protection, she  were taught to be a warrior princess and protector of her people. Gwindor may be broken in body and soul, but he is a fellow ex-slave like lord Maedhros and he deserves to stay at the side of his princess as a consort, even if the marriage nevers bear fruit in children due to the injuries he suffered in Angband.  _

 

The sound of hard blows against the Doors of Felagund, the entrance to Nargothrond which Harmion had blocked temporary with a set of stone pillars he had teared off from their original places. The roar of a dragon was heard as well as it tried to open the Doors with a mighty flame.    

 

_ Ah, the remaining burial goods are coming freely on their own. I feel a little sorry for that I will need to destroy Nargothrond a little bit, but I think lord Finrod can forgive me for that since his niece and widowed law-sister was able to escape with his remaining people. The loss of his dead family members would be hard enough to deal with. _

 

As the pillars were forced away so the Doors opened and orcs swarmed into headfirst, Harmion seated himself on the throne Finrod and Orodreth had used to receive visitors. Following the orcs, the dragon Glaurung had to tear down some of the rock around the Doors in order to get inside the Great Halls. At seeing the dragon push the orcs aside or even stomp on them without much care as he went onwards, Harmion saw how the orange eye caught sight of him and Túrin. But Glaurung did not get any chance to taunt the two for being the only people left in the Elven city or even use his power to hypnotize either one of them, for Harmion forced down giant stalactites which had formed from the stone roof, and stalagmites from the floor at the same time, thus impaling all the attackers with a unexpected weapon they most likely had no way of block either because of the weight falling on them from above or losing their balance when the floor changed below their feet. And with Nargothrond being created by a series of underground caves of rock and earth, it was like a attack made in honor of Yavanna and Aulë against the evil of Morgoth as the orcs tried in vain to escape outside from the sharpened rocks aimed at them. It did not take long, before the orc army lead by Glaurung, and the dragon itself which had gotten slightly lifted off the floor during his death throes thanks to the stalagmites driven straight into his belly, were colouring the stone floor with rivers of red blood. 

 

_ Let's start the burial fire of Orodreth, shall we?  _

 

While saying this, Harmion picked up a torch. The smell of animal fats came from various lightened oil lamps that had been left behind, because the refugees from Nargothrond had wanted to escape as quickly as possible, not adding any unnecessary weight to what they had been able to bring along.  

 

And perhaps for the first time in his life, did Túrin in growing horror realize why his early ancestors actually had been terrified of the Elves, the Firstborn of the Children of Eru. Their overnatural beauty could hide the same dark thoughts and feelings like the Secondborn, seduce people into lowering their guard before someone was stabbed in the back, either with deeds, words or a literal dagger. 

 

With Nargothrond being set on fire to create a massive sea of flame, burning the bodies of orcs and Glaurung as an open defiance against Morgoth, the curse laid on Túrin though his father Húrin came to a end as he was burned alive in the flames.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~X   
  


Of course, things could not remain too peaceful for long once the news of the Fall of Nargothrond was spread over the next following six months. Thingol seemed to expect its surviving people to still be under his authority, almost viewing the late Finrod and Orodreth as a vassal failing to pay tribute.  

 

“He have a pretty nerve, Thingol, to insult our late cousins like that. Does he really think that Finduilas have forgotten how both Luthien and that mortal Túrin caused a lot of trouble for Nargothrond in the long run?” Curufin said once the brothers had both read a letter filled with surprising colourful swear-words from Finduilas and what news about Doriath Celegorm could get from birds.        

 

“Knowing the lady in question, not at all. Finduilas is too busy to be a ruler and help her people survive to give away items or food they need themselves since they have to start over from scratch alongside the Teleri under Cirdan who escaped to the Mouths of Sirion earlier. She also thanks for the wedding gift we sent, Gwindor looks less scarred in the face with the Dwarven-made circlet for his position as her Consort.”   

 

“The Stone Children of Aulë knows how to help hiding physical scars, since they have been fighting against Morgoth and his creatures for so long, before the Noldor came back to Middle-Earth. If I got a useful hand of metal to use in battle, why not something for Gwindor that take away focus from his face when he looks like the aged among mortals after his enslavement?” 

 

Suddenly, a servant entered the chamber. 

 

“Pardon, my Lords, but there is a small group of ambassadors from Doriath that arrived right now. Something about Thingol thinking that you was behind that Nargothrond being burned to the ground.”  

 

Naturally, that annoyed Celegorm a great deal. They all knew why Harmion had chosen to set Nargothrond on fire, and most likely Finrod would agree over such decisions that must be determined in a short period of time. Losing a Noldor stronghold was a hard blow, but the loss of lives would be far greater.   

 

“Oh,  **_come on!_ **   Harmion did it to get rid of the cadavers of the dragon and orcs before they would have started to smell from decomposition and attract others to plunder Nargothrond! And it would have been a almost perfect lair for a dragon as well, with all the treasure they had to leave behind! No one gets to accuse  _ my boy  _ for arson and escape with no punishment over that accusation, High king or not!”  

 

As Celegorm stormed off to most likely scare the hell out of the ambassadors Thingol had sent, his brothers looked at each other. 

 

“Ammë Nerdanel would be proud, Celegorm as a father despite Harmion's mysterious origins. Atar as well, if he have any way of knowing about the adoption.”  

 

 

Harmion, who had gotten a new task of cleaning the lands around Amon Ereb from any possible orc he may found, landed carefully on the front yard of the fortress in a manner that would have seemed like he had just arrived out from one of the buildings for storing food. He had gotten some blood on his robe and face, though he had not suffered any injuries himself. Though, to be honest, it was hard to see exactly where the blood had landed without a proper mirror. 

 

_ I am home, father. _

 

Celegorm, who just had been in the middle of a heated argument with one of the ambassadors, looked up at seeing his adopted son come closer.  

 

“By Oromë, you got yourself busy this time. Wash off properly before dinner, you look like you have done one of those hunting rituals I taught you, only with a massive offering of orcs rather than small game ani…”    

 

He got interrupted by one of the Doriath ambassadors fainting in shock over seeing all the blood on Harmion. Another of them, a Elven lady with silver hair caught in a neat braid due to the travel, looked almost embarrassed over that. 

 

“The King could have chosen someone who is a little more used to the lack of comfort on a journey, and perhaps with a bit less ego.” 

 

“Probably. My apologies for the lack of manners in greetings before attacking you with that argument, my lady, but the one Thingol accuse of arson about Nargothrond is my blood-covered adopted brat over here.”

 

She merely raised an eyebrow in surprise, while Harmion only had a bored look on his face since he was used to hear Celegorm still calling him a brat out of habit despite being a fully grown-up those days. Besides, he was used to mixed reactions about the burning of Nargothrond.  

 

“I forgot my manners as well. I am Nimloth, the great-grand niece of Thingol. I am a descendant of his brother Elmo, who insisted on that I should take this mission.”

 

“Ah, the younger brother with more common sense and tact, I guess? Well, you are welcomed here as a guest, but you should not expect too much success about whatever Thingol want from us, Doriath is not held in high favor thanks to the military strength he never allowed us to borrow in the past battles against Morgoth, or even join us as a ally.”

 

She nodded, understanding that she would need to watch her mouth and actions if she wanted to avoid things getting out of control.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

 

During the dinner to welcome Nimloth and her fellow ambassador, she could not help but notice a few unusual things: 

 

While all the Fëanorians were seated at the high table together, Harmion sat for himself in a corner behind them where he could be seen but people had to walk up to the corner if they wanted to talk with him. Either he was a very quiet person for never taking part of the cheers or talking for the matter, only shaking on his head or nodding to questions the servants gave him, or he was not really fond of feasts. 

 

“Lord Celegorm said that youngster were his adopted son, but why is he not seated beside them? Surely a such high-ranking adoption would allow him to have a seat there?” she asked her neighbor at the table. 

 

“Harmion is not really fond of being in everyone's focus, it makes him feel uncomfortable. If you want to talk a little with him, do so in the garden outside after the meal, he enjoys sitting up in a tree and look at the stars when it is a fine evening like today.” 

  
  


That suggestion made Nimloth find herself in the garden afterwards. She tried to find Harmion somewhere, but he was surprising good at hiding in plain sight.

 

“It would be easier if he would speak…”   

 

Then she heard it, a song in her mind, rather than in the air around her: 

 

_ Haunting deeds, the spirit of the wild hunt. Let it draw you inside it… allow your own wild side come alive, free of chains and bonds... _

 

It was a old hunting song Celegorm had taught Harmion, but it was enough to almost ensnare Nimloth in a manner she had never felt before. Used as she was to hear her relative Luthien sing in the past, however, she managed to break free before it got a deep hold on her. Despite being a simple song, it held the potential to become a Song of Power if he had wanted to. However, Harmion seemed almost to find it peculiar in how she had reacted. In fact, he jumped down from the tree branch he had been sitting on, landing in front of her. But his body language spoke of nervousness, perhaps even a little scared.   

 

“I take it that you are not used to ladies that much? Or rather, talk to them?” Nimloth offered as a ground for conversation. He nodded slightly, the moonlight making his brown hair seem lighter. With some hesitation, more than one nervous glare on her face to spot any change of reaction, he raised a hand to feel on her long hair braid that had loosened slightly over the evening, the silver curls forming themselves gently. A simple touch, but his curiosity were shown in his right eye without a single sound from his mouth outside breathing. Was he that kind of person to take a vow of silence unless speaking was really needed? 

 

“Hey! What are you doing to lady Nimloth?!” someone suddenly yelled and came running, it was the other Doriath ambassador. For Harmion, being yelled at tended to link with his memories of Sauron and would not always react too well if it happened. 

 

“Wait! He did not do anything strange….”

 

Too late. Harmion had already gotten a hit in the face that was strong enough to send him to the ground. Those who had seen it happen in the window, naturally grew worried:   

 

“That idiot hit Harmion!”

 

“Does he have a death wish!?” 

 

“Lord Celegorm, wait! Let Harmion fix this himself, sir!”

 

Sensing that a fight could break out, Nimloth backed a few steps to not be caught in it. She was no fighter, and doubted that she could be useful there. As Harmion slowly sat up, he touched his mouth. At feeling the blood taste on his tongue, he realized that it had to be those rings on the other Elf's fingers that had caused the pain. Rings…   

 

_ A painfully red light from the rings Sauron used to wear. The various gemstones, that could cut up skin whatever he was hit in the face as punishment for whatever Sauron was displeased with… _

 

For that short moment that he mentally was back in Angband, Harmion did not react. Then his face became dark with fury and his right eye more silver than grey, a clear warning of what mistake it had been to hit him like that. 

 

“Oh no! Lord Celegorm, he is entering his feral state!”

 

“ **_MOVE ASIDE, FOOLS!!_ ** ” screamed Caranthir to make the servants leave room. Amrod and Amras was the first ones to arrive. Together they grabbed Harmion, by taking one of his arms each to hold him back. Alongside them, Curufin added some strength by a careful hold around the waist so Harmion could not move forwards. Maglor had come to stand close to Nimloth, keeping her safe if Harmion would try to use his Maia powers in order to get free. 

 

“Calm down, Harmion! Let us deal with this! Yes, he will be punished for hitting you without reason, so stop this right now!” Celegorm said in a mix of ordering and promising, lightly driving his thumb nails into the more pointed part of Harmion's ears to make him focus. 

 

“Idiot! Do you have a death wish to be torn apart like an animal?! If that is how Thingol allows his people to act, then he can forget getting answers from us about Nargothrond!” Maedhros shouted at the ambassador, who found himself pulled close to Maedhros' scarred face by a forceful hold at the front of his robes. Then Nimloth surprised them all, she grabbed Maglor's harp and used it to knock out her fellow ambassador by a hit to the back of his head. The sound of the hit even helped Harmion to snap out of his feral state out of surprise.  

 

“I start to understand why great-grandfather Elmo sometimes complaints over that he and his own family are the ones to always have to clean up whatever mess Thingol and his side of the family tree are causing,” was all she commented in a very annoyed voice, before giving back the harp to Maglor as if this was something that happened everyday. While the brothers were slightly shocked over her action, they all agreed that she had prevented a situation that could become very troublesome in the longer run.  

  
~X~X~X~X~X~X

 

The following morning, did Nimloth meet up with the Fëanorians in a more private office Maedhros used. 

 

“There is rumours that things are not exactly alright in Doriath, is there any truth of that?” 

 

Nimloth knew that in a situation like this, it was better to tell the bitter truth. 

 

“No, I would not call the situation in Doriath alright. Did you learn of the attack on Tol Galen soon after the Nirnaeth Arnoediad? The loss of her little son Dior… the far too harsh reality of that he was kidnapped and most likely killed by Sauron as revenge for what she did against him on the Quest for the Silmaril… it made Luthien snap. Or rather,  _ lose her mind to grief over Dior. _ She and Beren lives in Doriath, but they both are shadows of their former selves. Beren is often bedridden for weeks as if haunted by an unseen illness of his body, while Luthien wanders the corridors of Menegroth like a wraith, calling out for her little son to stop playing hide and seek so she can finally find him, living in the past with no idea of what happens in the present. Those with dark-haired sons in roughly the same age as Dior was when he was lost, no longer wants to be around Luthien because she mistakes the children for her own and accuses the mothers for trying to steal him away…”

 

That was unnerving to hear, and not very promising in the long run. Grief over the loss of a child was understandable, but Luthien did not act normally. No, this proved why a very sheltered upbringing could be harmful in the long run, even if done with honest intentions in the beginning.  

 

“Yes, we got a letter where Thingol more or less commanded us to attack Angband as a distraction, so his own soldiers would be able to sneak inside to search for the child and rescue him. The main reason we refused, and why it was a rather poorly thought-out plan born of desperation? Our own troops was greatly reduced in numbers due to losses in the battle and far from having recovered from their injuries, the surviving soldiers from Gondolin followed their Lord back into their hidden city which we have no idea where it is, and our mortal allies and our Dwarven allies also suffered heavy losses. Attacking Morgoth again so soon, for the sake of a single child...no, we could not do so to our men. It is not pleasant, but sometimes a single life is less important in weight on the scale than the weight of many more lives.”

 

Nimloth sighed, understanding the meaning. 

 

“The loss of his grandchild… changed Thingol as well. It is so hard to know which mood he is, he can burst into anger for anything and have almost completely abandoned his royal duties in favor of seeming almost bewitched by the Silmaril…” 

 

More than one of the brothers either facepalmed or made a displeased face. 

 

“That bloody idiot, that is the result of him requesting a Silmaril of all the things as bride price. No wonder there are rumours of chaos in Doriath that your side of the royal family must be forced to deal with?” 

 

“And that brings attention that I am the only unwed family member left, with uncle Celeborn marrying your cousin Galadriel. If Dior had still been alive, he would have been the youngest. While doubtful that I ever will have a claim to the throne of Doriath, Thingol tries to keep watch over which people I talks to and spends time with, especially those of the opposite gender. My family feared that he would try and control my marriage choices, and therefore thought it wiser to send me here under the role of ambassador since I actually is older than Luthien and by belonging to a minor branch of the family, I have been raised less sheltered. Helps a lot in that my father Galahtil was something of the family rebel in his youth and returned home from a coming-of-age journey as a married husband with a Silvan wife and me already growing under her heart.” 

 

As improperly it was to laugh at such information, Celegorm could not help it and the twins followed. More than one of his brother failed to hide a similar grin, at least from the way Curufin tried to keep his face blank. 

 

“Pardon the laugh, it is just too funny to imagine that Luthien is not the only troublemaker for Thingol inside the family. And yes, that difference in how you was brought up, is promising. As long as your family have given their consent for your leaving but not returning right away, you are welcome to stay some time here. You may need to expect some rude comments about Doriath, since the King and Princess are not viewed in the best way due to past actions.” 

 

“Great-grandfather Elmo gave both his kingly brother and niece one of the biggest, loudest scolding I ever have seen him give people, the moment he heard what Thingol requested in bride price and when Luthien returned with Beren after the end of their Quest. He especially pointed that lord Finrod's death were not worth such foolishness, because he is Olwë's grandson.”   

 

“Ouch. Hard blow, reminding them of the family ties. Must have been a rude awakening.”

 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

 

The longer Nimloth stayed at Amon Ereb, the harder it became to not notice that Harmion often could be found in her company. No big change, but enough to soon become a difference in behavior for him. 

 

One day, when Celegorm was checking his hunting arrows to see if he needed to make new ones, Harmion came up to him. 

 

_ Father...   _

 

Whatever he wished to say, it was already obvious for the seasoned hunter. Harmion was in love. Deeply, passionately, in a way different manner than the few innocent crushes from his adolescence back when he had started to look at the females differently from before as a Elfling.  

 

_ Can… can you help explain to Nimloth that I… am different? The most likely truth of my origins, why I act as I does at times? If I do it alone… I… do not want her to leave… _

 

Harmion was nearly in tears of distress over the thought of being rejected by Nimloth for not being a normal Elf, a rare sight since his childhood. Celegorm laid a strong hand on a similar built shoulder. 

 

“I will talk to her this evening.”

 

  
  


Just as he had promised, Celegorm made sure to meet Nimloth alone after dinner, and told her everything about Harmion's past. How he had been found as a starving child in the beginning of winter, showing very clear signs of being a escaped slave from Angband. The horrible possibility of Sauron using him as a experiment to create a half-Maia in a unnatural way to get revenge on Luthien and Melian. The difficulty of keeping his power in control, and how he even could be become like feral animal if his limits were pushed or something triggered up memories of Angband.   

 

“He would not be a normal husband, not just because of his muteness or those powers he have. He can become dangerous, both for himself and others if he does not have help to keep himself stable. Having a normal life with a wife may help him find some more stability in his restless soul, and help limit the feeling of being rootless since we do not know what happened to his birth parents. But remember to look for signs, that we must teach you if you wed him.”

 

Nimloth nodded.

 

“I am tired of following the ways of Doriath. With Harmion as a husband, I will be breaking every expectations I have carried on my shoulders.” 

  
  


That night, Nimloth awoke by the now familiar touch of Harmion in her mind. Expect for that this time, he seemed to actually be attempting to singing for her despite that he could not speak: 

 

_ Close your eyes, start a journey to a strange new world _

_ Neither of us know for now _

_ Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before _

_ The one you left behind for this one _

_ Close your eyes and let music set you free _

_ Only then can you belong to me _

 

She rose from her bed, and slowly began to follow after his shadow in the corridor. Nimloth knew that there would be a point of no return if she entered Harmion's bedchamber now to taste that forbidden fruit, yet she could not stop herself. Something in Harmion were changed to seduction tonight, showing that he wanted her. And she in return, could feel that pull in her own heart. 

 

_ In sleep he have sung to me _

_ In my dreams he always comes _

_ That hidden voice which calls to me _

_ And gently whispers my name _

_ Do I only dream or wish again? _

_ For now I find the One _

_ That I always longed for _

 

Harmion was almost impossibly handsome, even for a Elf, there was no possible way to deny it. Sure, the old scars on his skin marred a wish for perfection, but they also made him seem more real, a living being of flesh and blood. 

 

And it was her he wanted. She, who always had seen possible suitors ending up favoring Luthien in the past, either because Luthien was the Princess of Doriath or because there was something that drew men to her. But Luthien was not here, for various reasons that kept her trapped in Doriath.    


	4. Those who are stolen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harmion and Nimloth are happy married with a pair of twin sons, but there is other dangers outside those coming from Angband

Year 503 of the First Age, early spring:

 

It was the sound of laughter that woke Celegorm up from his nap, before he was attacked by two tiny shapes.

 

“OI! Get off me, rascals!”  

 

“Rin, Réd, please leave lord Celegorm alone,” Nimloth called to her three-year-old twin sons, who hurried back over to her. In her blessed state with a new pregnancy, she could not move too fast despite that it still was only roughly one third of the pregnancy that had passed yet. But a lot of her spiritual strength had been taken while expecting her sons, so perhaps it was not so strange after all.  

 

“You and Harmion still not choosing any more formal names for them?”

 

“Thingol will insist on them being named after him in some form if he learns that my prolonged stay here is caused by marriage and motherhood, and I refuse to let my babies suffer the trouble of having names with Elu in them! From what I know, poor Dior would most likely have been forced to carry the name Eluchíl, “Heir of Elu” as his grandson if he had lived!” Nimloth snapped back while holding her hands on the backs of her sons.  

 

They looked very alike at first look, expect for a few small differences; Rin, who were the more wild one to the point of people joking about being Celegorm in miniature, had inherited the curls of his mother. Meanwhile the more shy Réd, named so for the tiny red sling always worn in his hair that Harmion originally had fastened to know which twin that was the oldest, looked a little more like his father with straight hair. Another difference was that Réd's left eye were permanent silver than grey, originally a source of concern about possible blindness before the adults discovered that he had no problem with the sight of that eye.    

 

“If you are looking for Harmion, he should be in the bath to wash off from the latest mission we sent him on.”

 

“Yay, Ada is back!”    

 

 

Harmion were not surprised by the sounds of little feet running towards him while he sat in the bath, his sons often tried to sneak up on him but something always revealed them because they had not yet mastered the art of being silent.

“Beloved… do you remember our talk about trying to meet my family now when the boys should be old enough for some travel? I got a letter from my parents while you were away, and from what I could read between the lines of what they wrote, the well-known tension in Doriath about the royal succession have gotten worse, and this might be the last chance they have to be able to sneak outside the Girdle before they are forced to remain at the royal court all time. Thingol have gotten more suspicious lately whenever common people get too close to the borders.”

 

For a moment, Harmion tensed up in his body. He hated to come close to the border of Doriath where he could sense the power from the Girdle, and with Melian being a Maia, just being close to her powers often ended up being unpleasant for him because he associated that kind of magic with the horrible memories of Sauron. His own powers were both a pride and a shame, two sides of the same coin. The tale of how Luthien had been given a second life without her Maia powers had secretly given him some small hope of maybe asking Námo to remove his Maia powers if he ever died and entered the Halls of Mandos. Ever since marrying Nimloth, or rather the first time he had held his newborn sons in his arms, Harmion had slowly grown to fear that his family would end up harmed by himself somehow.  

 

_Only if it is a day's travel away from the Girdle, or I fear that I will not react well. It would be a horrible first impression face to face, me seeming to be extra moody in a way they would not understand or worry that I feel insulted somehow._

 

Nimloth, who had seen some of his pained reaction when they once had rode very close to the Girdle by a misjudged path back to Amon Ereb from the Mouths of Sirion, agreed on his words. It would not be nice if he had to suffer in silence, all because she wanted to see her family again.

 

“Nana, can we sleep with you and Ada tonight?”

 

Both parents smiled a little. Even if the twins were used to sleep in a shared bed inside a small chamber of their own now, there was some nights when they still wanted to sleep with their parents as they had done during the first year after the birth, simply because it was quicker to tend to any possible need if the cradle had been in the same room and then they had been moved over to the large double bed past the first six months of life.     

 

“Only if you are quiet and allows me to sing a lullaby without interruptions later at bedtime. Your father needs his rest now after the mission he did for the Lords.”

 

When Celegorm was informed about the planned journey, he did not protest but requested one thing only: that they would bring some soldiers along for protection, in case Harmion needed to leave his family for a bit and get rid of possible dangers that threatened to come close.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~X   


Since Harmion never had used his powers to travel with his family, he and Nimloth chose to ride on horses for the journey, allowing little Rin and Réd to see the landscape around them change. Perhaps not that much at once, but Andram was not called a wall of hills for nothing. And with Doriath being more north than Amon Ereb in the south, there was some differences that showed up if looking around good enough.  

 

“Why have we not visited your family earlier, Nana?”

 

“Because a journey would have been difficult when you still were little babies, boys, since infants need a lot of care and attention from the parents. Now when you are a bit older and able to do some smaller things on your own, the journey is a bit easier to make.”

 

Because both Nimloth and the twins needed small breaks to rest for various reasons related to tiredness, it took almost a month for the small group of travellers to arrive to the planned place, where they hoped that Nimloth's family would be.

 

“Look, one of my mother's favorite shawls is tied up in that tree branch! It must mean that they will arrive soon, possibly because they need to sneak out from Doriath without having Melian sense them walk through the Girdle. I would not be surprised if they will attempt to use the river Aros to pass though the Girdle, there is a spot somewhere where the river makes a uneven spot for its waters.” Nimloth explained at seeing something that was not a normal colour to see in the middle of summer on a healthy tree.

 

Since they could know how long it would take for the others to arrive, setting up camp seemed to be a good idea. At a closer look at the shawl to see if there was any way to tell how long it had been up in the tree, Harmion recognized a faint scent from it, a homemade lavender oil that Nimloth liked to use herself in her hair.

 

_We should not expect them to have a easy time to sneak out, so we need to ensure that we have food and water._

 

Having checked on the amount of food they had left, Harmion realized that he needed to go out on a hunt to bring back some fresh small animals for meat and some wild-growing vegetables Celegorm had taught him to search for. Better him to take on the task of hunting, for his Maiarin powers allowed him to travel faster, so he could not be away for more than a few hours before he would return with some fresh food.  

 

“See if you can add in some fresh fruits, if there is any you can find. The boys expressed a wish for some nice pears.”

 

Both of them hid a laughter by smiling, knowing how much their boys loved fresh fruits.

 

 

It was perhaps a hour after his departure, just as Nimloth had just started on trying to get a fire going, as the sound of horses could be heard coming closer. However, her hearing caught on something she did not really trust. It was too many horses, if they brought along all the family it should only be eight horses, and maybe one or two pack horses for carrying some heavier packing such as food and maybe some tents as protection against the weather.

 

“Boys, stay close to me!”

 

It was a good thing she had ordered so, because the riders did not turn out to be her family at all, but rather soldiers from Doriath to check on any newcomers to see if they could be enemies. The sight of Nimloth, whose long absence had actually gotten her family members under surveillance without her knowledge because Thingol had gotten tired on all the prevarications about why she had not been present at court for eight years now, seemed to trigger some absolutely crazy idea that she had stayed that long at Amon Ereb because the House of Fëanor tried to keep her as hostage!

 

Naturally, that was a accusation the Fëanorian soldiers could not bear to hear about their Lords who shared their soldiers' difficulties in life, and perhaps even worse as Morgoth wanted them captured as a sign of that their Oath were hopeless. And this did lead to a fight between the various soldiers, while poor Nimloth tried to get her little sons up on a horse so she could escape since she knew that this was not something for them to see.     

 

“ ** _NO!! I WILL NOT RETURN TO DORIATH ON THE KING'S ORDERS!!! HAAAAAAARMIOOOOOOON!!!!!_ ** ”

 

 

Harmion had been delayed in returning back to camp, mainly thanks to a unexpected encounter with a group of orcs, and that was not something he had wanted around. And since it had been some time since the last chance to let out that darker pleasure, to let orcs suffer in a manner that he had done as a small child…

 

Oh, a such fearsome delight to kill, tear up meat and feel the blood flowing along the lips that maybe only Celegorm could properly guess, his adopted father who had gotten some taste of the darker side of a wild hunt as well. Until that the scream of his wife echoed in his mind though the link between their souls, that every married Elven couples shared.  

 

The sight that greeted Harmion at coming back to the camp as quickly as he could, were not one he had expected; the Noldor soldiers were all slain in a manner that showed that they had tried to defend themselves good before getting shot with arrows, the whole camp were in disorder after the violence and neither Nimloth or their little boys was anywhere to be seen. Cold horror and fear for his family filled Harmion as he took in the scene, panic threatening to overtake his common sense. Raising his arms up in the air in a act of desperation, Harmion tore up the surrounding ancient trees out of the ground by their roots. With only the bare ground visible now, something could be seen, half-hidden by one dead soldier who laid on his stomach. When he carefully pulled the fabric out, he saw half the teared-apart side of an well-made embroidery, a winged moon on black surrounded by stars.

 

The heraldic device of Elu Thingol.  

 

The realization that it must have been a trap, her family possibly caught right as they tried to sneak out from Doriath and then been forced to act like a bait to lure Nimloth into coming to the agreed place, filled Harmion's veins with a burning fury worthy that of his adopted family. For the first time he allowed his more feral side come out voluntarily, because this time he would need that savage strength in order to get his family back before they had gotten behind the Girdle.  

 

 

To be honest, so had not the Doriath soldiers been expecting that Nimloth and her little boys would be that hard to bring with along. Nimloth because she kept struggling to get free and screaming aloud for her husband, while the twins had not exactly gotten a great first impression of Doriath when the familiar Noldor soldiers had been killed in front of their eyes, and then been forced to come along with their mother against their will.

 

“Let us go!”

 

“Ada! _ADA!!_ ”

 

And something did indeed come closer in the distance. Whatever it was, hard to describe outside a very frightening aura of wrath which was anxiously scary for those who felt it.

 

“Harmion! Harmion! Hurry, we are over here!” Nimloth screamed, before a soldier laid a hand over her mouth.  

 

“Be silent, lady Nimloth!”

 

With the aura coming closer, they had to hurry towards the Girdle. Yet those soldiers who rode in the back, got the first taste of what happened when you got on the wrong side with a Maia or someone with similar powers, as Harmion moved his hand in front of him and two of the soldiers fell screaming off their horses as large wounds on their back suddenly formed like from invisible claws. Their leather protections were torn apart since Doriath did not have steel armor like the Noldor.  

 

“Captain Mablung! Help us!”

 

Arrows were shot from the large trees as the horses crossed over the river Aros by the use of a transportable bridge that could be carried to different spots. A couple of the arrows hit Harmion in the right shoulder and left leg, but the pain only increased his anger and another three of the riding soldiers paid for what the archers had done.

 

“Ada!”

 

However, the Girdle acted as an impermeable wall, like the side of a mountain, and Harmion was thrown back when he tried to pass through it. Blood ran down in his face from his forehead, where a bleeding wound had been caused by the impact as his mind temporary became a mix of confusion and anger. Rumours about the Girdle being an enchantment that bewildered any unbidden intruders, were true, as he just had found out the hard way. A slight touch with his fingers, earned him the pain of feeling like he had touched a cauldron that has been heated up by the heat of fire. Forcing himself to calm down and ignore the burnt tips of his fingers, Harmion realized that he could not try and break though the Girdle alone, it would only end up with giving himself unneeded injuries that would waste valuable time waiting for them to heal.  

 

_What a lone wolf can not do, it needs help from its pack…_

 

That was one of the first things Celegorm had taught him, once Harmion had stopped being so feral in the beginning. And it was not just because of his name that Harmion often heard friendly jokes with a wolf theme about him, a lot of the Fëanorian followers were serious about him being like a grey wolf in character.

 

And now he needed help from people he trusted, those who he saw as his “elven pack.”   

 

_Get this stray shaded away from Doriath!_

 

A female voice, but not kind or even gentle. No, this voice spoke with the same disdain that haunted Harmion's darkest memories whatever he remembered Sauron's cruel words that no one wanted him, the sort of voice any Elf that had managed to escape from Angband feared more than anything else; being viewed as tainted by their time in slavery and untrustworthy in fear that they might be secret spies for Morgoth.

 

New arrows, in a far higher number, aimed for killing or at least make him a cripple by serious damage to his limbs.

 

“ ** _HARMION!!!_ ** ”

 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

 

Ever since the death of Túrin, the survivors of Nargothrond had been forced to admit that Gwindor had been right in the long run, that the mortal Man had not proven himself as a good counsellor for various reasons. Gwindor himself was just happy to have survived. Being Finduilas' Prince Consort was a position that had changed just like their change of home and there was no guarantee that he could beget an heir in her womb due to his old injuries in Angband, but with Finduilas as the current Head of the House of Finarfin since her aunt Galadriel was married to a Prince of Doriath and thus unable to actually make a claim on that title, they all knew that circumstances could have been much worse.

 

“Lady Finduilas! Lord Gwindor! You both need to hurry to the infirmary right away! Something happened in the big square!” a terrified servant called from the outside of the house where their council currently was holding a meeting, weaving with both arms in hurry. Understanding that it had to be serious enough to call on them both, they apologized for leaving while promising to come back as soon as they could.

 

Several healers was running back and forth in one of the rooms, a trail of blood coming all the way from the outside showing which one.

 

“What happened?!” Finduilas asked in worry, hoping that it would not prove fatal. They needed all the able-bodied people who could work. It was Celebrimbor who answered:

 

“Harmion showed up all suddenly in the big square, and… he is injured…”

 

“What?! How? He have almost never been injured thanks to lord Celegorm teaching him how to be careful in battle…”

 

A howl of pain coming from one of the healers.

 

“There is no need to biting one of us while we tries to get this arrow out of your shoulder, Harmion! We know that it is painful, but please try and remain still so it is easier for both us and yourself!”

 

Celebrimbor hurried into the room, trying to help his adopted cousin to letting go of the healer's arm, because the pain seemed to make Harmion almost lock his jaw shut by mistake. Finally, with Celebrimbor and a few others holding him down because of how much he trashed around on the examination table, the last arrow was removed from the wounds. Washing off one arrow in a bowl of clean water, Celebrimbor held it up for inspection.

 

“This is no orc arrow. It is Elven-made, and not of the known Noldor variants,” he said in a grave voice, referring to that the followers of the Houses of Fëanor, Fingolfin and Finarfin used different variants of arrows because the Noldor had spread out over Beleriand in the past. Raising his non-injured arm while struggling against the sedatives that would make him fall into a healing sleep, Harmion grabbed Finduilas' hand and allowed her to see his memories of how he had gotten those injuries. She did not end up much impressed by the actions Thingol had made. Taking one of the other arrows, she left the room.

 

“Beloved, what are you planning?” Gwindor wondered in a understandable worried manner.

 

“I am sending this arrow with a letter to Amon Ereb about what have happened to Harmion and his family. A proposal about that this kidnapping of his own relative and her little sons have to be last drop of hypocrisy that Thingol and his family is acting on. Luthien and Beren caused the death of uncle Finrod even if it was not planned to end up like that when Finrod promised Barahir to help if his kin would need it one day, and while Túrin himself have already paid the price for leading my father Orodreth to his death, being Túrin's foster-father and Luthien's father makes Thingol guilty of partly involved in not just _one, but two regicides._ ”  

 

Who could protest against a such accusation, when it was true somehow? That Thingol had not exactly been very helpful against Morgoth in the past, only deepened the feelings of resentment and bitterness among the Noldor over the years. And Finduilas, who remained alone of her grandfather Finarfin's House outside Galadriel whose loyalty actually was doubted by some people those days due to her marriage, had some very good reason to distrust Thingol.

 

“It is time for Thingol to learn exactly why the House of Fëanor are the Exiles who have survived for so long without losing any of their family members.”


	5. The fall of Doriath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes the truth is bitter and unwanted

Being back in Doriath under the current circumstances, was not at all what Nimloth wanted. Despite insisting on that she was both wedded and bedded properly as a real wife, it seemed like Thingol had gotten into his thick head that her twin sons actually was the result of a less than honorable relationship and kept her separated from them despite the pleading protests when they were taken from her. Short visits from her parents and other relatives were done under strict control with several days between each visit, hinting to that they were prisoners in much the same way as herself.   

 

“Where are my boys?” Nimloth finally managed to ask one day, right before her parents were about to be taken out of her chambers, not moving too quickly as her pregnancy made quick movements result in dizziness.  

 

“...the King insists on that they share the role of his deceased grandson Dior, never allowing Luthien to see them together. He have also re-named them Eluréd and Elurín to mark them as his future heirs despite his belief of your marriage being doubtful. Since Celeborn and Galadriel have no children of their own yet, the King have decided that your unborn third child shall be passed on as their child. You are kept in here to avoid being seen by Luthien in your current state as she only remember you as a unwed maiden,” Galahtil finally spoke after a long silence, dreading every single word he had to tell his poor daughter.   

 

“ **WHAT?!? He...he can not do that! It is nothing else than plain** **_MADNESS!!_ ** **Luthien should move past her grief and accept that her son is long gone, the truth can not be kept from her forever! THE BOYS WILL GROW UP INTO ADULTHOOD EVENTUALLY!! What if my sons marries a different bride each in the future, and how will Luthien react on seeing her supposed “son” with a wife that looks completely different from one day to another!? NO!! I REFUSE TO LOSE ANOTHER CHILD, NO MATTER WHAT THE KING SAYS!! I WILL NOT SEE MY CHILDREN BECOME FORCED TO ENTER ROLES THEY DO NOT BELONG TO—!!** ”

 

Nimloth's sudden change from talking to yelling, were cut short by a few servants who silenced her by the use of a handkerchief, soaked in hypnotics, over her mouth and nose. It had been carefully dosed to not have any negative effects on her or the baby, and Nimloth felt herself going numb in body, unable to speak.   

 

“You have to be quiet, lady Nimloth, or your yelling may alarm Princess Luthien,” one servant warned in a unhappy voice. From the way Galadhtil and his wife looked at each other, they hated to see their daughter be treated in that way, but there was nothing they could do thanks to their guards pushing them out of the chamber.

 

 ~X~X~X~X~X~X   


Thingol, who was told of Nimloth's outburst of anger soon afterwards, merely dismissed it as something unimportant caused by her pregnancy.

 

“She should calm down after the birth. Mood swings are nothing uncommon while She-elves are carrying children,” was he said when the servant told him of what she had screamed in her anger. No, Thingol really did not want to think of any possible problems resulting from the idea that had been planted in his mind at seeing that Nimloth's sons were roughly the same size and had almost the same hair colour as his own grandson had been at that horrible day when he was taken from his parents, despite the twins being a year older than what Dior had been. Could not Nimloth understand that he had ordered it all for Luthien, to lessen the massive grief that slowly had broken down her mind over the years and making her believe that the kidnapping of her son was nothing else than a terrible bad nightmare? A illustration to make Luthien believe that she had moved back to Doriath with her family when Morgoth had defeated the Union of Maedhros so many years ago?  

 

“Besides, having a chosen heir and a spare, is not too bad either…”

 

Thingol did not trust his younger brother Elmo and his descendants to hurry up and get more children anywhere soon now when Nimloth was expecting. Elmo himself and his wife refused to have more than one child, his son Galadhon was pleased with having two sons, while Galathil had proven to be something of the black sheep of the family and Celeborn still showed no sign of having gotten Galadriel with child yet.

 

And yet the same time, Doriath had no idea about the trap that was slowly made around their borders…

 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

 

News of Thingol's now very questionable actions was spread quickly from the Mouths by Finduilas, and of course the whispers of how both Finrod and Orodreth had met their end thanks to Doriath being involved in their deaths one way or another because Thingol had wanted to take control over Nargothrond as a vassal state. Those rumours helped to paint Thingol as a selfish, ignorant King who hid himself away in his hidden Kingdom to the point that no one could not trust for his aid, that he tried to regain power over Beleriand by getting rid of potential rivals, even those who were of his own kin since the House of Finarfin was related to Thingol by Eärwen, the daughter of his brother Olwë.

 

Soon enough, a large army left Amon Ereb, as Finduilas had suggested to the Fëanorians that this could be a way to regain the Silmaril Luthien and Beren had taken from Morgoth, as Nimloth had revealed that it had never left Doriath after the Quest. And from the Mouths of Sirion came another army, led by Finduilas herself since Gwindor remained to lead those who stayed behind, having no wish to enter a battle again if he could avoid it. Círdan refused to take part of a battle between Elven kin, but the surviving Noldor soldiers who now served Fingon's son Gil-galad, followed Finduilas since their young Lord was too young to be out in battle.

 

By now Harmion had recovered from the injuries he had suffered from the Marchwardens of Doriath a few months back. But that he was deeply offended by having his family stolen from him and then chased away like a unwanted stray animal, that was impossible to miss in his eyes, mixed with anger and worry about their well-being.

 

Celegorm barely held back a snarl of anger at seeing the new scars on Harmion's body, when the two armies met up at a pre-agreed place.

 

“If I can find those who did this to you, they are gonna get a taste of that pain themselves!” he muttered as Harmion quickly covered his shoulder again. Unlike Maedhros who did not care about that everyone could see the scars in his face, Harmion sometimes felt insecure about his own scars. Whatever it was his younger age, or something else, he did not really know.

 

It was agreed that Finduilas would act like a bait for Doriath, pretending to arrive to swear a long delayed oath of fidelity to Thingol as the new leader of what was left of Nargothrond's people, and surely not even Doriath could ignore the hardships of suddenly moving to a new place and needing to start everything over?

 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

 

Doriath swallowed the bait, when Finduilas explained some of her soldiers as bodyguards to ensure that she arrived to Doriath in one piece. And when the elves of Doriath had vanished between the trees to escort her, they would wait for a signal, that one of her soldiers would try and blow a war horn as high as possible.

 

Now Harmion did his part of the start. He kneeled on the ground, both hands flat against the autumn grass. Then, without warning, the large trees on the other side of the Girdle started to tremble violently, the same with the ground below them so a earthquake was created by his Maiarin abilities. For while Melian had created a barrier that held against attacks from both the surroundings and air, she had done one fatal mistake; failing to set the Girdle deeper underground. And that was the weakness Harmion planned to use to make Melian herself come to chase him off, if she took the bait. Shocked and horrified screams could be heard, as the Elves of Doriath was caught unaware by the earth moving below their feet. Now their main protection became their enemy, for the Girdle ensured that the earthquake remained inside Doriath.

 

“Melian should arrive soon enough when she realizes that this chaos comes from the outside.”

 

That she did, not too soon once she sensed where the chaos seemed to be the strongest. But Harmion was ready. He knew that Melian, as a true Maia, would most likely be much stronger than himself, who was viewed as mostly Elf with some unwanted Maia blood in his veins since Maedhros had taken apart any possible fears that Sauron would have sired him.

 

“She is coming! Watch out!!”

 

Using his powers a little bit extra, Harmion ensured that he got all the attention from the Queen when she searched for the troublemaker, who had dared to cause such damage in Doriath despite that her Girdle should have prevented it from happening. However, Melian soon realized another mistake: she had no real experience of fighting, especially not in the Elven body she had crafted as a shell for her own spirit in order to stay with Thingol, while Harmion had trained a lot in using his powers by getting rid of orcs that dared to come anywhere close to where he might await in a hidden place.

 

And Harmion were not afraid of entering his feral state of mind despite only seeing in one eye, or using violence against a female because he could literally feel that Melian was dangerous. His attacks against her were also strengthened by his now rather instinctical hate against the Maia, so strong since he still remembered how he once had been completely helpless against Sauron and the abuse he had been treated with. Now, with another Maia right in front of him, could Harmion really be blamed if he lost control a little bit? As it currently was, Melian became overwhelmed by unbelievable pain as her left arm was violently ripped off from her body, she fell down on her knees, trying to stop the blood with her remaining hand so she did not bleed out. But the her lack of concentration had another affect:

 

“ _The Girdle is gone! Ride in and attack Doriath!!_ ”

 

Before Melian could focus on raising the Girdle again, her head was separated from her body with a Dwarven-made war axe from Caranthir. He had chosen to help Harmion a little bit, if the youngster got some trouble in the fight with Melian. A wail was heard in the air as Melian's spirit left her body, a shimmer in the air before she vanished.  

 

“Well done, she would have caused a lot of trouble if she managed to raise the Girdle again….”

 

“Next time, a little less shaking of the trees, please! I came dangerously close to getting crushed by one that could have fallen over me and I doubt that it would have pleased Gwindor to hear about!” Finduilas complained from a tree branch where she hung from her arms, looking rather pissed off. But she released the branch freely, so Caranthir could have her sitting behind him on his horse.

 

 

Inside Menegroth, it was chaos. Civilians rushing inside to take cover from the earthquake, bringing children and wounded with them, soldiers rushing outwards to help making some kind of order. Not a very easy task, when many of the trees outside had been set on fire when people had dropped torches or lamps to the ground during the tremors below their feet. Many houses outside Menegroth was either crushed by the trees, or on fire as the owners tried to get outside.

 

“The smoke is so thick that we can almost not see anything….?!”

 

The sound of horse hooves in great numbers, coming closer. Then, armed soldiers on horses breaking out between fire and smoke. Soldiers that did not carry the armor of Doriath.

 

“ ** _Fëanorians….! THE NOLDOR IS ATTACKING!!!_ ** ”  

 

But it was already too late for that warning. With no Girdle to block them out, Doriath was wide open for attacks and its people now facing the wrath of the Noldor for their King's lack of help in the wars.  

 

~X~X~X~X~X~X  


Thingol himself had narrowly avoided to be crushed to death by a large piece of rock falling from the ceiling of his throne room. Sadly, a few servants had not been that lucky, and now their blood was spreading over the floor from where they laid under the rocks that had taken their lives. In the ceiling above, large cracks all the way from the floor following the walls revealed the danger of more pieces falling down soon.

 

“Melian….? Where is Melian and Luthien?! Where is my wife and daughter!?” Thingol screamed in fear for that something had happened to either one. Since he could no longer sense Melian's presence in his mind though the marriage bond of their souls, he was on the limit to start panicking. But he could not do that, his people needed him to stay calm in this sudden danger.

 

“I am afraid that Melian is no longer around to shield Doriath anymore. One of our soldiers made good work with forcing her to break down the Girdle so we could enter.”

 

That voice…

 

Thingol had only met the Fëanorians a few times since the Noldor had returned to Middle-Earth, but he could remember how the voice of Maglor, the second-oldest of the seven brother, was impossible to ignore. And there Maglor showed up among all the dust and smoke from the fires outside, blood on his drawn sword. Behind him was several soldiers under his command.

 

“Harmion, could you do us a little favor and catch the King? I think you could do it best without needing to think of the guards, leave those to us,” Maglor asked, and something took shape between him and Thingol. Not a Maia, but something that could travel in the air similarly. A surprising young Elf, with long brown hair caught in a high ponytail and grey eyes, whose face and throat was marred by scars where his skin was not covered by the long robe he wore.      

 

~X~X~X~X~X~X  


Maedhros had taken another turn of the underground chambers in Menegroth, the brothers had agreed to spit up during the attack in order to cover as much of Doriath as they could. Right now he ended up in a small area that seemed to be one part palace garden and the other part forest, though why it was done so when it was a completely natural forest on the outside, he did not know why. However, the sounds of two young voices caught his attention:

 

“ _Get away from us, crazy lady!_ ”

 

“ _You are not our Nana!_ ”

 

A shrill female voice ordering her son to stop running, expect for that it was clearly the voices of two boys, not just one. And Maedhros were right; two rather familiar little twins in a great hurry to escape from a shadow not far behind them.   

 

“Rin, Réd! Where are you!?” Maedhros called, and they turned around.

 

“Uncca Nelyo!”

 

The boys was honestly crying at the sight of a familiar adult after so long time around strangers. Seeing their struggle to run over to him in those awfully impractical robes Nimloth never would have them wear as everyday clothing, Maedhros took some longer steps closer and simply picked them up in one arm each. That the boys were still small at the age of three and a half year, helped him to carry them easy.

 

“Where is your mother? Is she around here somewhere?”

 

“We have not seen Nana _for ages_ ! They took her away, that tall Elf with a crown said that we were to act as one son for that crazy lady we just ran from despite that we are _twins_!” Réd responded from his left arm.   

 

Maedhros began to slowly set the pieces together, by what they wailed and cried about. The crazy lady could be no one else than Luthien, and with what Nimloth had told about her mental state….  

 

“Yes, we will leave right away. That crazy lady does not sound very welcome, and if she refuses to see that you are not the one she seeks for, then her possible reaction on seeing you both together would not be pleasant.”

 

“We want ada Harmion, too! He was injured by arrows when he tried to save us and Nana from those soldiers who took us!” Rin added in.  

 

“Yes, yes. Both your parents, I get it. Calm down a little bit, or those unfriendly Elves may find us if you are being too loud.”

 

~X~X~X~X~X~X  


Celegorm arrived just in time to see his adopted son enter a battle stage that would be hard for Thingol to block. Really, did the King think that he could use the Silmaril as a shield in his hands? Against someone who once had seen the remaining two Silmarils left in the crown of Morgoth and linked it to his eyes only getting hurt by the strong light that remained of the Two Trees?

 

“I would prefer him still alive, Harmion. It is not just the kidnapping of your wife and children that we need to talk with him about,” was all Maglor said before Thingol realized what was about to happen, or how Harmion was related to the forced return of Nimloth a few months past. But he reacted far too slowly. Like lighting, Harmion threw himself against the Sinda King with bared teeth, sunk his teeth as deeply as he could into the raised arm with the Simaril and threw Thingol off the ground. The height difference made it a bit tricky, but Harmion had not tried similar attacks against Maedhros in his younger years for nothing.   

 

Moving around in a circle to force Thingol off-balance, he then threw the Sinda King towards one of the many stone pillars in the throne chamber. In that same movement, the flesh on Thingol's arm was ripped off along with the fabric of his sleeve and the the King was forced to let go of the Silmaril from the massive pain. It was not a very gentle or elegant landing for him, either. Once Thingol showed signs of not having broken his back against the pillar despite the high speed he had hit the pillar with, did a few soldiers hurry forwards to set Thingol in chains so his Sinda subjects did not try anything against the Fëanorian Lords with their King as hostage.

 

“Well done, Harmion. Very good control to ensure that there was no killing by mistake. Trying to steal his own wife and children away from him, is not something I would recommend to do,” Celegorm announced as he came walking, using a piece of his cloak to pick up the Silmaril from the bloodied floor. Thingol, who had been forced into a kneeling position with his arms held behind his back, sent him a furious look.

 

“Nothing good comes of my relatives being around you Noldor! I have not forgotten that you tried to force my Luthien to marry you, and Nimloth shall not have to deal with a Noldorin husband either!”     

 

Most likely he did not count in the marriage between Celeborn and Galadriel there, given that Galadriel had stayed in Doriath where he could keep a eye on her.

 

“Really? Are you truly sure that he is pure Noldo, just because of my own history with Luthien? Help the King take a better look on Harmion, guys.”

 

In that same moment, a scream was heard:

 

“ _Father! Father, Dior has vanished again! We must find him before something happens to him_ **_!_ ** ”

 

A She-elf had shown up in one of the ruined doors that lead from the throne chamber, and Celegorm's eyes narrowed at seeing who it was: It was impossible to not remember those slight curls that once had been pure black, but now white as snow, matching the aged face that revealed her mortality. Barefoot like in her immortal youth, Luthien did not seem to care that her long dress had been strained by blood and dust. And from the way she talked, she clearly seemed to live in the past before her son vanished from her forever.

 

“Dior! Dior, where are you!? It is dangerous here, come back to me right now!”

 

 

Then, Fínduilas showed up as well, dragging with her a bound Beren, who also had aged since the last time Celegorm had seen him and did not look too well. Rather, there was something in his body language spoke of illness, that he has been broken both physically and mentally by the loss of his only child. Tossing Beren to the floor with not much gentleness, Finduilas looked like she wished nothing else than kill Beren right there and now, but she tried hard to keep herself under control.

 

“ _Beren. You and that… that brainless half Elf of yours, she could have ended this all when she had the chance? No, like a love sick child she just stole the goddamn gem instead of ending the Dark Lord there and then? Where was her supposed wisdom that could have worked out a plan to do so? WHY DID YOU NOT DO MORE THAN STEALING A SILMARIL AND THEN RUN AWAY?! You drove uncle Finrod to his death thanks to that stupid promise he once gave your father and that foolish Quest of yours for that bloody gemstone, do you really think that Nargothrond would just shut our eyes for your part in his death?! That the two of you were allowed to return to life, but not him!? Finrod Felagund, the one with the greatest skill to ensure peace between the Elven realms!? ANSWER ME!!_ ”

 

In her wrath and with the blood on her clothes, Finduilas almost seemed to take the shape of her long deceased uncle from the nightmares Beren still suffered about Finrod fighting against the werewolf, where a wrath-like Finrod accused him of wanting him dead just to prove that Luthien truly was worth all the trouble to get her hand in marriage.

 

“By the laws of those who survived the Fall of Nargothrond, you have already been tried and convicted in your absence.”   

 

Two of her soldiers behind Finduilas raised their war bows, the arrows ready to be fired. And they were aimed at Beren, who was unable to defend himself.

 

“I did not mean to….!”

 

But his attempted pleads fell for dead ears when the arrows were released from their hold. As long as he still lived, Beren was viewed as a danger in himself for those who saw it as that Finrod had given up his life for a foolish promise about help that he never had known to become fatal. And now Beren's name had become too associated with love-related folly for the Elves who had been the ones to deal with the aftereffects of the Quest.

 

“Beren….?” Luthien breathed in almost childish disbelief, as he fell to the floor, an arrow in both his throat and chest to ensure that he really had been killed. But his lack of response, seemed to trigger a memory of his first death in her mind, from the way she suddenly started to cry violently with her hands around her head in a fanatic attempt to block it all out:    

 

“BEREN!! No, no, no, no, this is a nightmare, this is a nightmare… _Dior.._!!”

 

Everyone present could see that Luthien would be useless as a hostage to bring along to Amon Ereb, when she was acting like that. A princess lost to the madness of grief, creating a dreamworld where her little family was still alive.

 

“Harmion. Repay Thingol the terror you felt, at getting your family taken from you. His wife and law-son is already dealt with, that lunatic daughter over there is the one left. Three for three. The so called Blood Price.”

 

Harmion understood what Celegorm meant as he received the heavy sword into his own hands; Melian and Beren could symbol Nimloth and one of his sons, meaning that Luthien had to symbol the last family member. Thingol had stolen his family away from him for selfish reasons, now was the time to repay that action. It did not matter that Luthien and Beren already had died once in the past, this time it would be permanent.

 

“No… no, no! Do not harm her! Do not harm her!! Please, not my daughter!!” Thingol screamed in horror, trying to get free from those who held him fast, but there was nothing he could do as Harmion went closer to Luthien, who had fallen to her knees and her head bowed low. Luthien herself did not seem to react, outside moving her mouth in soundless movements. Pathetic, too similar to how Harmion could remember slaves who had been broken and given up in Angband. Was this the same famous princess who once had managed to pull Morgoth into a magical sleep, yet failed to use a such one-of-a-kind possibility to win true glory and actually help the Noldor by slaying him?

 

Then, Luthien looked up, just as he raised the sword to give her the killing blow, her eyes showing that she once again was away in her dream world while a song formed from her lips:

 

_Sleep, sweet child_

_Fly away, wind_

_I will be waiting for you_

_Till the morning comes_

 

Harmion froze in the middle of his movements, then dropped the sword to the floor as he started to back in growing unease. The song was echoing in his mind, trying to break though the deepest part of his memories, those that could possibly be memories of his birth parents but which not even Maglor had managed to find because the trauma from Angband was too great. Celegorm, who knew the signs of Harmion possibly entering a panic attack, did not bother to complain about bad timing, something in Luthien's words had struggled a bad reaction in his son and he would not allow that to ruin everything right now.

 

“Harmion, try and stay calm!” Celegorm ordered, taking the younger elf's face between his hands to try and focus the eyes on himself. But Harmion did not hear the words, only looked past his adoptive father with an absentee look, and his shaking hands slowly being laid over Celegorm's own. Before anyone could realize what was happening, his mouth opened in a soundless scream, his ósanwe causing his memories to enter into the mind of others:

 

_The smell of the forest in full spring. A soft voice singing to him, while his tiny hands attempted to grab those tempering black curls. His father gently pulling him away from the river where the shimmer on the water had seemed like a treasure to catch. Then that horrible darkness suddenly chasing him, fear and terror as he screamed for his mother… and the pain, the horrible pain as Sauron ruthlessly crushed his vocal cord…the loss of sight in his left eye..._

 

“.....Dior?” Luthien asked in shock and disbelief, her eyes suddenly clear as if she had been sound of mind all those years. Even Thingol seemed to have caught on what was going on, given how he seemed to have almost gone pale enough to rival the bloodless faces of the dead. And Harmion recalled what Maedhros once had said to him when he had asked some question about the rumoured child of Luthien and Beren, who was said to have died so young:  

 

“ _The boy was taken by Sauron in front of his parents, who was unable to prevent it from happen, either because they were careless with allowing the child run free or not having enough protection in Tol Galen. Not long afterwards, Thingol sent a letter in which he more or less commanded us to attack Angband as a distraction, so his own soldiers would sneak inside to search for the child and rescue him. The main reason we refused, and why it was a rather poorly thought-out plan born of desperation? Our own troops were greatly reduced in numbers due to losses in the battle and far from having recovered from their injuries, Gondolin would not have been helpful at all, and our mortal allies and our Dwarven allies also suffered heavy losses. Attacking Morgoth again so soon, for the sake of a single child… no, we could not do so to our men. It is not pleasant, but sometimes a single life is less important in weight on the scale than the weight of many more lives._ ”

 

All of Menegroth suddenly started to tremble violently as an deep, frightening understanding took its shape in Harmion's inner despair. Curufin, who just showed up with the heavy pregnant Nimloth in his arms since she could not run too fast herself nowadays, shouted to his present brothers:  

 

“It is becoming unstable in here because Harmion is not controlling his powers! We need to get out of Menegroth right now if we do not want to be crushed and buried with this as our tomb!”

 

The sound of his name, the name Celegorm had given to him when finding him after Maedhros' suggestion that originally had been meant as a simple joke between brothers, seemed to awake Harmion out of the stupor he had found himself into. And Celegorm was forced to remember that he had lost one vambrace during the fighting earlier, in a rather painful way as Harmion buried his teeth deep into Celegorm's unprotected arm.   

 

“Not the right time to enter your feral state of mind, brat!!” Celegorm scolded out of old habit, forcing Harmion to let go of his bleeding arm and then threw his adopted son over a shoulder to start running. There was no time to let him recover from the panic attack, they needed to get out as soon as they could. Not being of much use when they need to run really fast, Thingol was thrown to the floor and Luthien pushed very roughly into a corner.     

 

“You will not take him! Do you hear me, Celegorm!? You will not take my son from me….!”

 

If her broken mind had mixed the events together to make it look like Celegorm had been the one to take Dior, they never learned, because in that moment the third-born Fëanorian grabbed a spear and spun around on one foot before throwing it towards her. The cry of pain was the only reveal of that the spear had hit her, but not where. And Menegroth fell apart over its King and Princess, to the last song Luthien was heard singing:

 

_Sleep, sweet child_

_Fly away, wind_

_I will be waiting for you_

_Till the morning comes_

 

_Sleep, sweet child_

_You are sailing_

_To faraway lands_

_Follow my voice_

_Into the thick clouds_

 

_Sleep, sweet child_

_Fear nothing_

_In the land of your dreams_

_Someone keeps you_

_In their thoughts_


	6. Father and son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The events in Doriath have made some changes again, and this time it is make everything different in the coming wars against Morgoth and Sauron

The Fëanorian soldiers had suffered some deaths, and some of them were wounded by unexpected resistance, but most of them had survived together with their Lords. It was many civilian Sindar who had been captured as prisoners in the chaos, and now they faced what Thingol had refused to do: getting spit up between the Noldor under Gil-galad, those who followed Finduilas and the Fëanorians, under the compulsion to become soldiers and fill up the places of those who were long gone in earlier battles, following the orders of the Noldor they had tried to avoid so much behind the Girdle.   

 

After that Doriath have fallen, the Fëanorian host had followed the river Aros upwards and then travelled east before they had arrived to Nan Elmoth, until they had found and followed the river Gelion. Just across the river laid Thargelion, but despite his wishes Caranthir did not dare to cross over the river to take a look on his old lands, there was a too great risk that orcs was in the area and they did not need to lose any more soldiers now.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

 

Celegorm and Nimloth was worried, very worried, for the same reason. Harmion seemed to have suffered a really serious nervous breakdown over the truth that his true identity was that of Dior Eluchíl, the long believed-to-be deceased son of Luthien and Beren, the little prince of Doriath who had been stolen by Sauron so many years ago.

 

“Is he reacting on something today? Outside the fever he got after the shock?” Celegorm asked as he came over with a bowl of stew in one hand. 

 

“He tried to pat the boys on their heads as a attempted apology for not being well enough to play with them earlier, otherwise I think nothing have changed from the last few days,” Nimloth admitted from where she sat on a folded mantle as pillow against the dry ground below her, keeping herself busy with trying to sew more decent travel tunics for her twin sons. Her own family members had all survived the fall of Menegroth and was traveling with the Fëanorian host, for Maedhros did not want the Sindar to try and expect that Elmo or any of his descendants would lay claim on the now worthless title as ruler of Doriath. Granted, neither Celeborn or Galadriel had been among the prisoners and no one really knew if they too had lost their lives or were still live somewhere in the wildness now when Cirdan would not offer any sanctuary for those who had followed Thingol, but that was events that no one could really know. 

 

“Nana, Amras said that our hair colour have become strange despite that they just helped us wash off in the river!” Rin called while he and his brother arrived in a hurry, both wearing a set of spare tunics from the Ambarussa that was all too long for Elflings in the toddler age, because no one knew what had become of the home-made clothes Nimloth had them wear at the time of the kidnapping.

 

“Did those co… cou… count Elves in Doriath add a hair dye on us while washing our hairs one day, Nana? Réd struggled with the right word. 

 

“What?” Nimloth asked in confusion, laying down her sewing items and bid her sons to come closer. To her surprise, there was a change in the hair colour, a slightly reddish one, like a fine net of highlights in their hairs. 

 

“I would say it might be henna, except for that this is a more dark colour that does not stand out from the dark brown too much. In fact, it almost looks like the reddish brown hair Amrod ended up inheriting from our maternal grandfather Mahtan…”

 

Suddenly Celegorm interrupted himself, put a confused Réd back down on the ground and hurried over to the tent, where Harmion and his family slept during the nights when camp have been set up.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

 

Harmion was awake and sitting up in his bed roll in order to have a easier time drinking some water from a water skin, when Celegorm held up the tent opening and asked if he felt strong enough to come out in the sun, if only for a couple of minutes? 

 

Once Harmion came out in the sun and Celegorm held a gentle hold on his face for a closer inspection, it was impossible to miss what the shadows inside the tent and the last cloudy days had hidden; that his brown hair had now changed into a rather dark strawberry blonde, even a few silver highlights here and there. His face also seemed just the tiniest bit more like Celegorm in the now stronger yet refined jaw and the way his eyes were more storm grey than before. The scars had not vanished, but there was something more fair about him now, even more than before when the scars had marred the image of perfection. 

 

“You couldn't stand the idea of being the son of those well-known love-stuck idiots, huh? That is why you bit me, to swallow the blood in my veins and hoping that your Maia powers would listen to you wanting to become  _ my real son  _ in a sense, right?”   

 

A faint nod. Of course, Harmion had grown up with the Fëanorian view on policies in Beleriand, even if he had admitted to admire Fingolfin and Fingon for their courage in battle against the armies of Angband. Even the cousins from the House of Finarfin had gotten their share of being admired in various ways. And with him knowing Thingol as a King who hid away from danger in a hidden Kingdom and the Quest of the Silmaril causing a lot of unneeded trouble between the Elven realms, was it really that surprising that he was ashamed by his true origins? 

 

_ It is not like I would be viewed in a good light by people, with those two fools as my parents.... _

 

That irritated Celegorm quite much, he hated whatever Harmion expressed such doubt about himself. Taking hold of Harmion's shoulders so he could not move away, Celegorm said in a firm voice:   

 

“Listen to me now, Harmion, for I would prefer to not repeat myself again: As far as the world know, **_Dior Eluchíl_**   is dead as a child since over three decades ago, with no chance to grow up and have descendants that carry the blood of Luthien and Beren in their veins. **_Harmion of Amon Ereb_** is the son of Celegorm, the third-born son of the famed Fëanor, even if there is no one who can tell who your mother is. By the haunted woods, there is even those who says that you are my son with a Maia who serves Oromë all the way back in Valinor! Or even that you are a gift from the Lord of Forests himself, as a reminder of that there is people I care for and needs to protect despite the Oath!”

 

Harmion was stunned by what his adopted father just had said. Could it be true? That Oromë had been the one to ensure that he had survived that autumn and early winter after escaping from the orcs, despite that he had no idea how to survive in the wildness due to how young he had been back then? Leading him to the camp where Maedhros, Celegorm and Caranthir had been with their men, a unspoken promise of a loving family that would not abandon him even with them not knowing where he came from or who he had been at birth?

 

“Great, now you are about to start crying like your own twins are doing when they are upset. You really are still that lost little brat at times, right?” Celegorm joked in a tender voice, Harmion hugging him tightly as he cried. Cried for the lost life he would never know as the son of Luthien and Beren, for the person he might had become in a such life. But Celegorm was right; Dior Eluchíl was a name which belonged to the past and a lost future, Harmion of Amon Ereb was the name he knew himself as, the name he lived under with his adopted father and uncles, his beloved wife, twin sons and soon-to-be born daughter. This was his life, the family he wanted. 

 

And Sauron would pay for taking him away from Tol Galen, where all this had started. 

 

Giving a hug to Nimloth and their sons as a apology for worrying them so much, Harmion then followed with Celegorm for a little bit so the soldiers could see that he was no longer ill from the fever and his nervous breakdown earlier. Walking over to where Curufin was keeping himself busy with polishing the Silmaril despite the magical gem being all clean and shining already, Harmion asked something of them. With a low mutter that Harmion better not drop the Silmaril out of carelessness, Curufin gave him the Silmaril pretty reluctantly. Using his powers to float up in the air, Harmion turned against the distant Northern lands where Angband lay. Then, holding up his hand with the Silmaril and allowing its inner light be seen by anyone who could see it, he called out in a voice that could be heard like an echo across all of Beleriand: 

 

_ See this, Lord of the Werewolves, Lieutenant to Morgoth! By chains and slavery you sought to break me, yet the All-Father wanted differently! Doriath may have lost a prince and heir to the Quest for this very Silmaril, yet the House of Fëanor has gained a son of their own actions, and we shall become the nightmares of the Dark Lord together!! _

  
There was no turning back now. Harmion had fully accepted himself as a Fëanorian in both body and spirit, which he now was able to be thanks to the blood of Celegorm. Whatever his future would have been if he had remained Dior Eluchíl, he did not care anymore. If his adopted family wanted help to get rid of Morgoth and Sauron, then he would gladly give him his Maia powers to ensure that they remained alive to the very end. They had saved his life, and so he would save theirs in return.       ****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I started this AU story when I looked over the Silmarillion timeline again and started to wonder, what could have happened if Sauron would try and take revenge on Luthien for the humiliation he must have felt over yielding to her and Huan during the Quest for the Silmaril, and kidnapping her little son Dior to the most likely fate of a cruel death would most likely strike a very hard blow to her. 
> 
> The lyrics to the lullaby Luthien is singing in this story, comes from a English translation of the original lullaby sung in the Russian movie I am a dragon. 
> 
> I imagine Nargothrond to look like the drawing of Finrod's beloved realm made by the artist Mysilvergreen on DevianArt.
> 
> The inspiration for Eluréd and Elurín being fraternal twins rather than identical, comes from the artist Elladawn on Tumblr because I wanted to avoid the old cliché of identical twins.


End file.
